


the price that you pay (when you're in love)

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s03e09 Closure, Episode: s03e10 Maveth, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25791487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: Afraid Fitz's determination to save her will doom their whole planet, Jemma volunteers to lead the team back to Maveth in search of It.
Relationships: Will Daniels/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	the price that you pay (when you're in love)

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-da! WEEK THIRTY TWO!!! If you think you missed week thirty-one, that's probably because last week my muse straight surrendered and I wrote a drabble of exactly 100 words on tumblr. You can check it out [here](https://shineyma.tumblr.com/post/625295987739607040/week-thirty-one-drabble).
> 
> I know my author's notes have tended towards the self-deprecating/depressing lately, so I'll thank you all for your patience with me! Lockdown has been rough and with this challenge wearing out my muse, I've been struggling. But I'm in a much better mood this week and I think this fic is pretty okay!
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review! <3

“I’m not strong enough to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it,” Fitz says, and Jemma could hit him.

He’s been her best friend for more than a decade, and she loves him, albeit not in the way he wants her to. But his selfishness—or, if she were feeling kinder, his determination to protect her—is going to doom their _entire planet_.

There’s only one thing for it.

“Fine,” she says, and turns to the waiting Malick. “Send me, then.”

“Jemma—” Fitz starts, horrified, but he’s cut off by Malick’s laughter.

“And just why would we do that?” he asks. His gaze drops, lingering on the obvious bulge of the bandaging beneath her sweater. “We have hours of proof of how determined you are not to see this through, Miss Simmons.”

“It’s _doctor_ ,” Jemma corrects reflexively. Bloody Hydra. “And it’s one thing to endure torture, it’s quite another to let you send my best friend off to die on that hell planet.”

She’s proud of how evenly she mentions the torture—that her voice doesn’t waver, that she keeps her shoulders straight rather than curling in on herself in some hopeless attempt to protect her wounds. Every inch of her is in agony, from her skull to her toes to her wrists, ziptied together behind her back, but she won’t cower in front of Malick.

She survived the worst Ward had to throw at her. She won’t let a memory, no matter how recent and traumatizing, defeat her.

“I’m not going to die,” Fitz says. “Simmons, you can’t go back there—”

“Neither can you,” she snaps at him. Her tone takes him aback, she sees, and moves on to Malick before he can recover. “I spent six and a half months on that planet. Fitz was there for five minutes. He won’t be able to lead your men anywhere; all he’ll accomplish is getting all of them, himself included, stranded.” She breathes in deep, lets the accompanying screaming pain in her ribs ground her. “I know my way around that place. I can bring them home.”

“Makes sense to me,” a _very_ unwelcome voice offers, and she turns to find Ward joining the men at the edge of the circle around the monoliths. To her dismay, he’s changed since last she saw him—changed into the same desert camouflage the nameless grunts are wearing.

“What are you doing?” she asks, though she fears she knows the answer.

“Leading,” he says, and pulls on a cap. “We doing this or what?”

“No,” Fitz says immediately. “The deal was—”

“Yes,” Malick says over him, and motions to one of the nearby guards.

For all their time in the field has changed them, Fitz is still no physical threat to anyone. Despite his struggling and shouting, the guard easily subdues him. In no time at all, their positions are reversed—Fitz restrained and Jemma free.

“Jemma,” he says, heartbroken. “You don’t have to do this—”

“Yes,” she says, “I do.”

She leaves him with a kiss on the cheek and nothing more. Certainly no promises of her safe return.

The trip through the monolith leaves her wheezing for breath. Whether that’s remembered trauma—they’re here, she’s _back_ , the darkness and the sand and the smell hitting her like a physical blow—or simply the result of putting additional strain on her body after all she’s been through today, she doesn’t know.

Either way, Ward is unsurprisingly unsympathetic.

“Any day now, Simmons.”

Oh, she’s going to enjoy leaving him to die.

Jemma closes her eyes and steadies herself. Her plan, such as it is, is simple. Get to Will. Will can help. They’ll incapacitate Ward and the guards—they can leave them out as a sacrifice for It; apparently Hydra is wont to do so anyway, it’s only fair—and then…

Well, and then they’ll return to their old routine. It won’t be safe to try for home again, not now she knows that Hydra is waiting in the wings to worship and welcome _It_ , but at least they’ll be together.

The team will rescue Fitz. Jemma will be happy here with Will. Everyone wins. (Except It and Hydra, which is rather the point.)

Ward clears his throat pointedly, and she opens her eyes. It takes a moment to orient herself against the familiar landscape, the rocks and hills and sand that made up her world for so many months, but once she does, relief nearly overwhelms her.

By some turn of good fortune—the first this miserable day has offered her—they’re not far at all from the caves.

“This way,” she says.

Ward falls into step with her at once, and it takes all of her strength not to cringe away. Wasted strength, perhaps—strength better saved for more important matters than her pride—but she’s shown him no end of weakness today already. If she can do nothing else, she can at least not give him the satisfaction of more.

Of course, she doesn’t need to _show_ it for him to know that she’s weak, and the friendly smile he gives her says as much.

“So,” he says, “how far to the portal?”

Her eyes flicker instinctively to the stars. Just as quickly, she refocuses on the ground in front of her.

“We’re not going to the portal,” she says, and instantly regrets it.

Ward knows the location of every burn on her body—he is, after all, the one who _inflicted_ them—so the thumb he digs so painfully into one as he seizes her arm must be deliberate. And despite her resolve not to show any more weakness to him—despite the fact that it’s far, far short of the worst she’s experienced today—the awful pressure is enough to draw a whimper from her.

Sand stirs around their feet. Uneasily, with the fraction of her mind not devoted to the pain signals overwhelming her nervous system, she wonders whether any of her open wounds are still bleeding.

Ward, because he’s an idiot, doesn’t pay the sand any mind. “What do you mean, we’re not going to the portal?” His thumb digs in that much harder, and tears blur her view of his tight jaw. “You’re not thinking of going back on our deal, are you? Because—”

“I _can’t_ ,” she interrupts, tugging fruitlessly against his grip.

“Can’t _what_?” he bites out.

“I can’t lead you there,” she lies. “The portal is in the no-fly zone.”

He just looks at her. The pressure on her burn doesn’t let up at all.

“It’s the most dangerous area of the planet,” she explains, as calmly as she can while fighting tears. “I’ve only been there once, after which I went to no little trouble to avoid it. I don’t know my way around it. I’d never be able to find the portal in time.”

“Simmons—”

“Which is why,” she continues, loudly, before he can move to hurt her any further, “I’m leading us to someone who can.”

Mercifully, his grip finally loosens. “Someone?”

“Will Daniels,” she says. “He was sent here as a sacrifice more than a decade ago. He’ll know the way.”

For a long, terrifying moment, Ward is silent. Then, all at once, he releases her.

“Well,” he says, smiling, “why didn’t you say so?”

Jemma chooses not to dignify that with a response.

The rest of the twenty minute hike to the cave passes in blessed, albeit painful, silence. Scrambling over the planet’s rocky terrain is a challenge on the best of days, and this is assuredly not that; by the time the entrance to the cave is in sight, Jemma has given up on pride and stopped fighting her tears. Every breath hurts. Every step is agony.

As such, one would expect climbing down the ladder into the darkness of the cave to be multitudes worse—but now she has more important concerns than her physical state. She barely feels it.

“Will?” she calls. There’s no fire going. “Will! Are you here?”

Ward has, naturally, followed her down, and she hears him says, “Well. This is cozy,” even as she moves to the other room, and—

_Finally_. Will.

He’s sleeping (on _her_ cot, she notes, heart clenching), apparently undisturbed by her loud entrance, and she takes the opportunity to look him over.

Even in sleep, he looks tired, and her heart aches with guilt. But he also looks to be in one piece, and that’s good. That’s _very_ good. More than she dared hope for, really, after the way she left him—abandoned him—facing off against _It_ in the heart of the no-fly zone.

She can’t wait any longer.

“Will,” she says again, kneeling on the cot next to him. She should be planning, coming up with some way to warn him of her intentions, the need to defend themselves from Ward and the guards—but all she can think about as she reaches to touch his shoulder is how much she’s missed him.

He startles awake the second she makes contact. For a second, his gaze bounces around the room, taking in Ward behind her and, past him, the doorway through which the sounds of the Hydra grunts moving around can be heard. Then they settle on her, and a wide smile splits his face.

“Jemma,” he breathes.

Realization punches her in the gut.

No.

_No_.

She scrambles back, so far and so quickly that she runs right into Ward. He catches and holds her easily in place, sparing no thought for her wounds—but she can’t feel them. Not now.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

On the bed, It—It who is _possessing_ Will, who has taken his body to wear like a _coat_ —smiles.

“We should have known,” It says. “Of course you would know at once.”

“Get out of him,” she says. Her voice breaks on it, but she doesn’t care. “Get out of him _right now_.”

“My Jemma.” Slowly, laboriously, It pushes Itself to Its—to _Will’s_ —feet. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you bloody well can,” she snaps. “Get out of him _right now_ or I—I’ll—”

What will she do? She can’t hurt It, not without hurting Will. She has no threat to offer, not really.

It smiles, so gentle and loving that her stomach turns. “I waited fourteen years for this body. Do you really expect me to surrender it so easily?”

If she can’t threaten It, all she has is begging.

_My_ Jemma, It called her—and It’s a thing accustomed to worship. If It considers her one of Its followers…

“Please,” she says, and—heedless of the pain it causes her—pulls away from Ward and falls to her knees. “ _Please_ , give him back. I’ll do anything. Just, _please_.”

She hears Ward mutter an emphatic “What the _fuck_ ” behind her, but all of her attention is on It and the thoughtful way It tips Its head.

“Anything?” It asks.

“Anything,” she swears. “Whatever you want.”

It limps forward, closing the distance between them so It might cup her face in one hand. Her skin should crawl, perhaps—but her body is too used to Will’s touch. She melts into it instead.

“Anything,” It says again, sweeping Will’s thumb over her cheek. (The uninjured one, thankfully; the cut on the other side is already stinging horribly from her tears.) “And if my price is you?”

“You want my body instead?” she asks. It’s not what she was expecting, but to get It out of Will? “Take it.”

It laughs—a slow, rusty thing that sounds nothing at all like Will. The sound stabs at her heart anyway.

“No,” It says. “All of my vessels are male.” Will’s thumb passes over her cheek again. “But I’ve had months to live Will’s memories.” It quirks Will’s mouth, lips pulling up one side. “Perhaps I would like to take the same pleasure in you that he did.”

_Now_ Jemma’s skin crawls. For a moment, her head spins. She wants to shove It away, to scream, to take an immediate shower so she can clean herself of the very _suggestion_ —

But It has Will.

“If that’s the cost of freeing Will,” she says, as evenly as she can. “Fine.”

It smiles and releases her face. Her skin feels cold where It touched her.

“Your devotion does you credit, my Jemma,” It says. “Unfortunately, I have greater concerns than the pleasures of the flesh.”

It’s toying with her. She should have expected no better of such a monster.

“Then what?” she demands. “What do you _want_? What can I give you?”

Instead of just bloody explaining Itself, It studies her. Its smile has faded.

“You’re in pain,” It says. “And bleeding. You’ve been injured?”

“Yes,” she says. “So _please_ just tell me what you want already.”

It frowns. “Who did this to you?”

“Guy named Gideon Malick,” Ward volunteers at once—presumably to prevent her from naming him. He’s not completely stupid, after all. “He’s running this operation, uh, sir. He thought pain was the best way to get Simmons talking.”

“Malick,” It says, voice gone oddly flat. If It suspects Ward is lying, It doesn’t show it. “He’s a wealthy man?”

“Yeah,” Ward says. “Very.”

It nods to Itself, then returns Its attention to Jemma.

“Help my Jemma up, Grant,” It orders—disturbingly, as Ward hasn’t offered his name—and Jemma has no choice but to allow it. With as much pain as she’s in, there’s no way she’d be able to get back on her feet without Ward’s help, as little as she wants it.

Once she’s on her feet, It takes her chin in Will’s hand.

“My price,” It says, “is your mind.” With It in control, Will’s eyes are colder; Its stare makes her shiver. “I have a great destiny to fulfill. You will use your genius—and Gideon’s extensive resources—to make it possible.”

Ominous. _Very_ ominous. But…

“You’ll give Will back if I do?” she asks.

“I will.” Its grip on her chin tightens. “And if you betray me, I will take him back again.”

Hours ago, Jemma was willing to die to keep It from making it back to Earth. She was willing to leave Will stranded here, alone, on this hell planet. She was willing to—and _did_ —endure hours of torture. She was even willing to strand herself here once more.

She thought she’d give anything, _sacrifice_ anything, to protect people. To keep Earth safe from the devastation It wrought here.

But it seems she’s found her limit. She can’t live in a world where Will is nothing more than a suit worn by the monster that tormented him for so long.

In the end, she’s just as selfish as Fitz.

“I understand,” she says, “and I won’t betray you. Now _give him back_.”

It smiles beatifically and presses a horribly warm kiss to her forehead, then steps back.

“I will, of course,” It says, “require another vessel.”

“Of course,” Ward says smoothly, stepping aside to gesture to the doorway. The Hydra grunts who accompanied them are still hanging back in the other room—digging through the cave’s supplies, from the sound of it. “We brought several sacrifices for you. Please, help yourself.”

Always so quick to save his own skin, Ward. Only the thought of how horrid it would be to see his hateful face every day as she works for It stops her from suggesting It take _him_ as a ‘vessel’ instead.

Its smile shifts into something chilling.

“I will,” It says, and limps toward the doorway. “Wait here.”

Obediently, Jemma and Ward do. Jemma doesn’t particularly want to move, anyway—she has no idea how she’s going to make it back up the ladder, let alone across the miles that separate them from the next portal site.

Everything hurts, her heart worst of all.

After a moment, Ward opens his mouth—but before he can speak, an awful, terrifying sound begins in the next room. It’s…indescribable. Something between the howling of the planet’s sandstorms and the gurgle of water being sucked down a drain, underlain by desperate screams from the men who followed them here. When the screams end abruptly, one by one, it only becomes more terrible.

Jemma’s blood runs cold. Slowly, Ward closes his mouth.

The sound fades out. One of the men is still screaming—until he isn’t.

Jemma and Ward wait in tense silence until one of the grunts comes through the doorway. Or rather, It _wearing_ one of the grunts.

“There,” It says, cracking Its neck. “As promised.”

There’s some strength in her left, after all—strength enough to run to the next room, where she finds three burnt-looking skeletons and a dazed, coughing Will on the floor.

“Will!” In seconds, she’s on her knees besides him.

“Jem,” he croaks. He doesn’t seem to be able to manage much more than that, but his hand gropes for hers and his grip, when she takes it, is firm enough.

“Just breathe,” she says—helplessly, uselessly. “You’re all right.”

_Is_ he all right? She didn’t even ask whether there would be after-effects…but if he weren’t going to recover, It wouldn’t be able to use the threat of taking him back to ensure her cooperation. So yes, he’ll be fine. He will. He _must_.

“Jem,” he says again.

“I’m right here,” she says.

He’s wheezing for breath, interspersed with the occasional cough; helpless, she leans over him, rubbing his shaking back with one hand and holding tight to him with the other.

She’s aware of It and Ward behind her, deep in conversation, but can’t be bothered to listen. All that matters is Will: shaken and breathless but gloriously _alive_ , free of Its control.

“You shouldn’t have,” he chokes out. “Not for me—”

Whether he’s talking about her return to the planet or her bargain with It (was he aware of that? She hates to think it, to imagine him trapped in his own body, reduced to nothing more than a helpless passenger as It worked Its will), she doesn’t know and doesn’t care. Either way, her answer is the same.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she says. “How could I do anything else?”

His breathing is starting to even out, and his eyes are clearer when they meet hers. “Jemma—”

“I love you,” she says, because she should have said it before—should have said it a thousand times. Now that she has a second chance, she doesn’t intend to waste it. “I _love_ you. I could never have just left you to It.”

Will stares at her, which is acceptable, but he appears to have stopped breathing, which is decidedly _not_. Not when he was struggling already.

“Breathe,” she reminds him, and he sucks in a breath.

“I love you, too,” he says, almost helplessly, and she simply _must_ kiss him after that.

They only manage a brief one, however (nothing at all like she’s been longing for), before her injuries make themselves known again, protesting the way she’s leant over him. She pulls away quickly enough that she nearly loses her balance and falls all the way back—

—but It is there to steady her.

“Careful, my Jemma,” It scolds. “You will both need time to recover before you are well enough for such intimacies. Humans are so fragile,” It adds, as though to Itself. “For now, our way home awaits.”

As easily as though she were a child, It lifts her to her feet, and then does the same to Will. He sways as soon as It lets him go; Jemma hurries to steady him.

“My two favorite humans,” It says, giving them the same beatific smile he gave Jemma earlier. It’s unsettling, how similar the smile looks, despite the different face.

She realizes, belatedly and with a jolt of something like guilt, that she has no idea what this particular Hydra agent’s name is. (Was?) She can’t regret his sacrifice, not when it freed Will—and not when he’s _Hydra_ , a willing worshipper of this monster—but it still makes her feel…something.

“Hate to see how you treat your least favorite,” Will rasps. One of her hands has come to rest on his chest while the other supports him; beneath her palm, his heart hammers away. “Considering.”

Its smile shifts from beatific to chilling.

“You’ll see it anyway soon enough, I’m afraid,” It says, and motions to the ladder. “Let us go.”

Will goes up the ladder first, and it obviously isn’t easy; when she reaches the surface (after her own awful struggle), he’s leaning against a rock and fighting for breath once more. Jemma wants to rush back to his side, but is forced to take it slowly instead—her left knee is throbbing something terrible.

“You’re hurt,” he says the moment she reaches him.

“Yes, well.” Jemma thinks about trying to explain—how she meant to leave him here to rot, how first Giyera and then Ward tore her apart and even then she didn’t speak to save him—and physically cringes. “Hydra has never been kind. I’ll survive.”

“Indeed you will,” It says, quite benevolently, as It joins them. “The journey to the portal will not be easy, but I assure you both—as soon as we return to Earth, neither of you will ever want for anything again.”

Will appears to find that pronouncement just as discomfiting as Jemma does.

Fortunately, It doesn’t wait for a response.

“Come along, now,” It says. “Soonest begun is soonest done, as Ethan’s grandmother used to say.”

Jemma and Will trade perplexed looks at _that_ , but they’ve no time to do more; It’s already heading off in the direction of the no-fly zone, Ward close at Its heels. As little as Jemma wants to follow them, she’s uncomfortably aware of how much time they’ve wasted. The portal will be opening all too soon, and she doesn’t dare lag too far behind.

“Race you to the portal?” she suggests, even as she helps Will to stand.

He huffs out a laugh. “Sure. You can have a head start.”

“No,” she says, lacing their fingers. “No, I think we’d better stick together.”

She’s lost him once already. She doesn’t intend to let it happen again.

They’ll stick together now—whatever the cost.


End file.
